


Blood Sport

by manic_intent



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adland and other stories, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Prompt: Modern AU, That modern AU where everyone works in advertising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 10:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4916479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We don’t actually have a lot of money,” said the client, very seriously. Teagan was a sour-faced tall man with a mop of sparse brown hair, all pinched, solemn eyes. </p><p>Seated at the far corner of the conference table, Cullen bent his head quickly over his notes. Behind the client’s back, he could see the creative director, Eve, rolling her eyes vigorously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Sport

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maesilju](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maesilju/gifts).



> Prompt from nevarra, thief!hawke x cullen, modern AU. OP apologised for vague prompt. Personally, when I do this kind of thing, I really love vague prompts. :) The vaguer the better! While when people who send me prompts that are paragraphs long and intricate it’s like … hm… it’s already a drabble right there in itself guys… why do you still need an author… 
> 
> My thief!Hawke is a sarcasm!Hawke playthrough. 
> 
> Part 2/5 of my Grand Final Weekend prompt set. This takes place in a weird modern AU where Ferelden, Orlais and Thedas make up one huge multi-state country. Just roll with it.

I.

“We don’t actually have a lot of money,” said the client, very seriously. Teagan was a sour-faced tall man with a mop of sparse brown hair, all pinched, solemn eyes.

Seated at the far corner of the conference table, Cullen bent his head quickly over his notes. Behind the client’s back, he could see the creative director, Eve, rolling her eyes vigorously. 

“Well of course.” Josephine’s practiced smile was smooth as silk, being an accounts director veteran, no doubt with years of wrangling client bullshit under her belt. “The economy’s been difficult for everyone. Even for local councils I see. Tell me, what does Redcliffe need?”

“We have to push a recycling initiative in a new and original way that appeals to millennials,” Teagan said firmly. “We want it to look like Orgrimmar's initiative but still look unique. It should involve using something called a hashtag. We don’t have the budget for mainstream TV but I have been told millennials don’t watch mainstream TV anyway.”

“We could push it on digital and social media,” Josephine said doubtfully.

“And we can find out what the other councils are doing. Learn what we can from them and drown out the noise,” Leliana suggested, leaning forward slightly in her seat, her smile not as practiced and friendly as Josephine’s, her expression abstracted. As a strategy director, Leliana did vaguely remind Cullen of his first field sergeant, years ago in the mires of the Marsh’s short-lived civil insurgency - calculating, ruthless and efficient. 

“Leave it to us, Mister Teagan,” Josephine said hastily, and made the usual noises about budgets and contact reports as they ushered the councilman out. Cullen industriously finished his notes as Eve craned her neck, watching through the tempered glass of the conference room as Josephine and Leliana disappeared around towards reception, then she rolled her eyes again and slouched into her chair, checking her iPhone gloomily. 

“Redcliffe would be a good client,” Cullen told her soothingly.

“Government work,” Eve muttered, “Pay us in peanuts and expect us to shit gold.”

Cullen winced. “It’ll be a good job for our folio?”

“You know how these local government jobs work. We’ll feed them something and at the end of the focus groups, the politics and more focus groups there’ll be a frankenstein version that gets out to the public which would be frankly embarrassing to even patch our name to. ‘We have no budget’, Lord! If we only got a fraction of what they earn in parking tickets-“

“If wishes were accounts we would be working for Nike,” Cullen repeated one of Josephine’s favourite sentiments, amused. “Who’s next? Aren’t we back to back today?”

“Next guy’s a…” Eve checked her calendar on her phone. “Friend of Varric’s.” 

“… In a good way, or a bad way?” Cullen asked cautiously. Their head copywriter, Varric, had a large array of sometimes useful but often utterly weird contacts. Sometimes work did come out of it all, but usually it was a surreal experience involving unexpected politics, backstabbing, and what Josephine liked to delicately call ‘Don’t-ask-questions-money’. 

“A good way, I think. You should know this guy,” Eve told Cullen accusingly, even as Varric glided past the glass conference room, heading briskly towards the reception. “Looks like he’s here. Buckle down. This time it’s a competitive pitch.”

“I don’t see why we’re waiting until the last moment to decide who pitches,” Cullen complained. “We could split the slides.”

“You heard Leliana. If he looks at my boobs, I run the pitch. If he looks at your ass, you pitch.” 

“That’s an entirely exploitative way to approach business.”

“If you were worried about exploitation then you wouldn’t be in advertising, Cullen.” 

“Who is this guy again-“ Cullen began, which was as far as he got. Varric, Leliana and Josephine were returning, clustered around a swaggering man whom Cullen had never thought he would see again. Garrett Hawke was still a savagely handsome man, his hair in soft spikes of dark walnut, a trimmed moustache and beard around a mouth that was both sensuous and cruel.

Cullen stared openly, shocked, and was still staring when he rose numbly to his feet with Eve beside him, Varric pushing open the door to the conference room. “Hawke, this is the creative director, Eve. And this is our head of marketing, Cullen.”

“We’ve met,” Hawke said, his handshake as firm as ever, just on the edge of being too tight. “Fancy seeing you here, Commander.”

“The Marsh was a while ago,” Cullen admitted, trying not to squirm under Hawke’s frank, appraising stare. “Major.” 

“It’s Senator now, actually,” Hawke said dryly, and Cullen fought a blush. Ah, of course. He should have remembered that. 

At Eve’s nudge under the table, Cullen added, “So what can we do for you today?” 

Hawke slouched into a chair, Varric beside him, and the rest of them sat down around the table. “I think I told Varric that this was going to be a competitive pitch.”

“And we’ve signed the NDA,” Leliana added. “That’s the legals taken care of.”

“I need a new brand,” Hawke said blandly. “Something modern but not too modern. Needs to be ready in a couple of months for roll out, timed for the pre-Christmas period. Messaging, visual stuff, website, the works. The budget’s so far at a mil. That’s not counting the budget for media. Still working that bit out.”

“What’s with all the hush-hush?” Varric asked, frowning. “You haven’t even told _me_. Is this some new company? A Senate program?”

“Varric,” Hawke said, grinning broadly, “I’m going to run for President.”

transmission

**To** : HR  
 **From** : vivienne@inquisition.com  
 **Subject** : Dog Policy

Lace,

I know that studies have found that having dogs in the office increase general happiness and productivity. I know that it’s traditional for creative agencies to allow employees to bring in dogs. However, I think there should be limits. For example, our dear Marketing Director’s dog, Bowser, is not a dog, it’s a _dogasaurus_. It’s bigger than some members of the junior creative department. It’s bigger than the _indigo printer_. 

This cannot stand. Yesterday, that dog-shaped monster knocked over a delicate set of scale prototypes _and_ nearly wrecked our photography studio. If Cullen insists on bringing That Dog to work then it should be confined to his office, the rec floor, or the junior creative department, where presumably it may serve the dual purpose of snacking on the occasional less deserving intern. 

Regards  
Vivienne de la Fey  
Head Producer  
Inquisition Creative

II.

“He’s a bit of a rogue and a ruthless scoundrel with no morals, but he does have a lot of charm,” Varric said later, during the debrief, when Hawke had wandered off. “I think this might actually work.”

“What,” Josephine raised her eyebrows. “You mean the branding, or the presidency run?”

“Both,” Varric said brightly. “Everyone else who pitched their hat in so far are all robots. I mean, needing a _focus group_ to decide whether or not to release info on a topic? _Robots_. I can see the tagline already. Hawke 2016: Not a Robot.” 

“You’re fired as our copywriter,” Eve decided. She was leaning back in her seat, eyes fixed to the ceiling, in The Zone, as Eve liked to call it, already on her sixth cup of black coffee for the day. 

“He’s a war hero and he won his Senate seat with very little opposition,” Cullen was checking Wikipedia on his iPad. “Moderate Democrat. What’s that?”

“Means a guy who can’t make up his damn mind whether he’s red or blue,” Eve suggested. “A fucking fence-sitter.”

“No, and please don’t ever mention that in front of the client, Eve,” Josephine passed her hand over her eyes. “Honestly. This is why you’re not usually even invited to an initial client meeting.” 

“Anyway, we have a few days to come up with something.” Leliana was already busy tapping away at her phone. “I’m going to sniff around, find out which other agency was invited. Also, it might be useful if our Marketing Director took Hawke up on his dinner invitation.”

“What dinner invitation?”

Leliana shot Cullen a studied, blank stare. “Check your pockets.” 

Cullen patted himself down, and to his surprise, found a card in his suit pocket that hadn’t been there before. It was Hawke’s Senator card, with the number circled and the words ‘Call me ;)’ scrawled beside it. “When did he…?” 

“When Josephine was explaining our Process. He wrote it under the table.” Leliana said blandly. “Then he slipped it into your pocket when he was brushing past to the door. I see everything.” 

“You. Are scary,” Varric told her, shaking his head. “I know Hawke’s bi. But isn’t this kinda, I don’t know, going the distance? He’s a friend of mine. I can talk to him.”

“That’s what you said the last time.” Leliana pointed out.

“How was I to know that Bianca’s _brother_ was also pitching? I didn’t even know that he worked in advertising!”

“You might as well take one for the team,” Eve told Cullen. “He’s hot. You’ll have fun.”

Cullen flushed. “That’s… I don’t… What-“ 

“C’mon! You were in the Army. You guys did this kinda self-sacrificial honey pot thing all the time, right?”

“I was in the _Marines_.”

Eve flapped her hand. “Same deal.”

“Pretty sure that’s a spy thing, not an Army or Marines thing,” Varric said dubiously. “I don’t know, Eve. I’m not sure this is ethical.”

“Business is a blood sport, Varric,” Leliana said mildly. “Remember that pitch we lost to the Circle? They booked the client into a hotel room before their pitch with a complement of high-end escorts.” 

“So _that’s_ how they did it.” Eve blinked. “What the hell. Our idea was great, too. Bastards.” 

“It’s going to be at least a two mil job,” Josephine said thoughtfully, also checking something on her laptop. “Depends on the splash he wants to make in ads. More than two mil, likely. National buy will be huge. Assuming he isn’t running as a fringe candidate.”

“Hawke? Nah. He’s popular, high profile, and his ego is the size of a small planet.” Varric let out a sigh. “Josephine’s right. This is going to be a big job if we can get it.”

“I’ll call him,” Cullen caved. “But. I’m not going to. Well. Sleep with him. Or whatever.”

“No one said that,” Eve waggled her eyebrows. “Honestly, Cullen. I’m shocked.”

“You’re _totally_ thinking that.” 

“Just have fun, do some schmoozing, and bring home the bacon,” Leliana told him. “You’re in marketing. So _do_ some marketing. And in the meantime, let’s bring in the junior and senior creative teams on this. I want to have some preliminary ideas that Cullen can take to Hawke by tomorrow. Which means, you schedule dinner for tomorrow or the day after.” 

“Yes Ma’am,” Cullen said, resigned. 

“We’re all in this together, Curly,” Varric said soothingly. 

Cullen rubbed a hand over his face. “Just… think of a better tag line in two days. Okay?”

transmission

**To** : HR  
 **From** : sera@inquisition.com  
 **Subject** : processed food ban

hey guys,  
srsly dis processed food ban by hoity toity, WTF? u guys going fasischist? show me a studio that runs w no sugar & i’ll show u a hamster truck  
wut even  
dorian the art direcctor is climbing the walls guys  
srsly WTF  
give us back the m&ms jar  
or dere will b war  
srss war

WAR

Sera  
Communications Designer  
Inquisition Creative

III.

“Hey guys,” Cullen poked his head into the creative department, raising his voice slightly to get himself heard over the hipster electronica. “I’m going to have to leave really soon. Are you guys done yet?”

Eve was scowling at the screen behind one of the juniors, both of them looking rumpled and buzzed high on probably their tenth cup of coffee. “… No, that’s not right. Maybe move all that copy a little to the left. A little more. Hm. No. The balance of the page is all wrong. Move it back. No up a little. No. And the kerning on that headline, it’s not right. And bring that word down over there. Better.” 

“Eve?”

“Oh, sure.” Eve straightened up, looking harassed. “It’s still really preliminary and are you going to bring your iPad?”

“It’s a casual dinner, Eve,” Cullen said dryly, “I’m not going to spend it going through an eighty page presentation. I’ll just run him through the basics and try and talk him into coming over here to sit through a working concept or something, okay?” 

Eve looked briefly anguished. “Really? I could maybe cut twenty pages off it-“

“Really. I told you guys this only _this morning_. Leliana said to have _rough concepts_. You guys overdid it again. And for God’s sake, for the last time, it doesn’t definitely matter if we’ve decided on a font yet, all right? We just need to sell the idea first. The rest will come. Okay?” 

“Okay. Okay.” Eve rubbed a hand through her hair, even as the junior designer whose shoulder she was crouched over looked devastated. “Sure. Come over here. We’ll run through it. Did Leliana tell you who else was pitching?”

“Yup. The Circle again. And uh, Admiralty, I think. Seems Isabela is a mutual friend of Hawke’s and Varric’s.”

“Varric’s friends with bloody _everybody_.” Eve paused. “ _Admiralty_? Didn’t they steal some concept off QUN?” 

“Nobody’s admitted anything.” 

“Well, goddamn,” Eve scowled. “Guess you got your work cut out for you tonight.” 

“We’re just going to catch up,” Cullen said patiently. “I haven’t seen him in years.” 

“Just ‘catch up’ really thoroughly, okay?” Eve laughed as Cullen sputtered. “Kidding! Right. We start with the concept. Hawke 2016. Y’know, pity the ‘maverick’ thing got so tainted with the McCain-Palin run. Would’ve been a brilliant thing to own.”

“‘Hawke 2016: No Bullshit’… _Really_?”

“Possibly not Varric’s finest moment,” Eve admitted. “But I think it has potential. It polls well with the millennials.”

Cullen sighed. “Nevermind. Let’s just flick through the rest.”

transmission

**To** : HR  
 **From** : cullen@inquisition.com  
 **Subject** : Bowser

Hey Lace,

Sorry about Bowser, I’ll be sure to keep him in my office or in the rec room from now on. Thanks for asking, he does get enough exercise in a run everyday, so he isn’t that bored around here. He likes people and mabari don’t get bored easily anyway. Also, the junior floor said that they’re happy to keep an eye on him. Sorry about the photography studio! He was chasing a ball from Bull and got too excited.

PS: Bowser is on a strict food regimen consisting of the Hills Science Food Diet. He is not allowed to eat any interns. Thom has volunteered to watch him when he's not on the junior floor, just in case he gets close to any more prototypes in the future.

PPS: A side drawer in the communal kitchen was full of used Snickers wrappers today. Please advise? Is this a project from creative? I nearly threw it all away.

Best regards,  
Cullen Rutherford  
Marketing Director  
Inquisition Creative

IV.

Hawke laughed when Cullen told him the ’preliminary’ tagline. “I know,” Cullen said hastily. “I told them, probably not a-“

“I kinda like it.”

“-uh, that is to say,” Cullen coughed, “It does have something to it.”

Hawke grinned at him, amused. They were in a hipster burger place, all faux chandeliers and little faux steel trailers with the sides removed and wooden benches fitted in, astroturf on the ground and a bar at the far end where you could put in an order. Hawke and Cullen were possibly the oldest people in the joint and the most unfashionable, and as such, were roundly ignored by all and sundry. 

“You don’t like it, Commander?”

“Well, I think it could be refined,” Cullen said diplomatically, “Also, you probably should just call me ‘Cullen’, sir.” 

“As long as I get to be ‘Garrett’ to you instead of ‘sir’,” Hawke drawled. “At least in public.” He winked, and to Cullen’s mortification, Cullen blushed hotly. He had admired Hawke from afar before, of course - many people did - but hadn’t really thought more about it other than maybe a passing wank or two in the shower whenever he was alone. 

“So uh, when did you leave the Marshes?” Cullen asked. 

“A year after you did, actually. Decided to go into politics. Ran for the Senate seat for Kirkwall, surprised everybody when I beat the incumbent, and here I am. The Senate is kinda like the Marshes actually, except with more backstabbing.”

“And now the next step?” Cullen lowered his voice just in case, but no one seemed to be paying them any attention still.

Hawke smiled wolfishly. “Country needs fixing.” 

“And you’re the man to do it?”

“Sure am.” Cullen could see what Varric meant about charisma now. He’d been exposed to it before, in the Marsh, but years in the Senate had only improved it: Hawke had simply turned charm into his primary weapon, rather than a rifle. When he smiled like that, Cullen was willing to believe in _anything_. 

“I think you’d make it,” Cullen said honestly. “Got to be better than some of the others out there. I mean. _Gaspard_?” 

“I know,” Hawke shook his head slowly. “What did he want to do again… build a wall between Nevarra and Tevinter? That’s the height of brilliance for the Reds nowadays. It’s astounding.”

“Don’t get me started,” Cullen chuckled. “Hell, don’t get _Josephine_ started.” 

This was… nice. Comfortable, even. They shared a few beers, had burgers and dessert, and on the way out, Hawke asked, “How’d you get here?”

“I took the train.”

“Let me drive you home.” Another wolfish smile. “Commander.” 

“Can you even drive?”

“Let me and my driver get you home,” Hawke corrected, and chuckled as Cullen blushed again. On the drive back, Hawke pressed a hand lightly over Cullen’s thigh, and when Cullen didn’t flinch back, he smiled again and leaned over, confident. 

“Hawke,” Cullen whispered quickly. “I don’t know if. Well um. You see. I had a good time at dinner.”

“I know.” Hawke’s voice had gone smoky, deliciously so. “So did I.”

“And uh, just so you know. My team, uh. I was going to go for dinner anyway. But they kinda said I should. Actually, I don’t know how I’m going to say this.” 

“Sweetheart,” Hawke drawled, amused again, “I can recognise bait when I see it. I’m a politician.” 

“Oh.” Cullen blinked rapidly, glad for the dark in the car that hid his flush. “Well uh. Sorry?”

“You’re honest about it, at least. That’s refreshing.” They rolled past a street light, the glow painting a white gash over Hawke’s grin. 

“I kinda well. I don’t like false pretences. But I’ve liked you for a while. Since before.”

“I know that too,” Hawke said dryly. “You think I don’t notice when someone tends to stare at my ass?”

Cullen ducked his eyes away, his ears probably bright red by now. “Oh God. Sorry.”

“It’s very flattering, actually.” Fingers gently tipped Cullen’s chin up. “So now that we’re both on the same page. Can I get a kiss, handsome?”

Cullen gave up. He leaned in, clumsily, and the kiss slanted up awkwardly against Hawke’s mouth before Hawke righted them both, just about climbing up into Cullen’s lap, rumbling his pleasure as he deepened the kiss, tickling his tongue over Cullen’s teeth. They kissed until the driver finally pulled up outside Cullen’s door, slouched precariously between the seat, the door and the floor, and Hawke looked up over his shoulder, lips parted, brow furrowing in annoyance. 

“You could uh. If you were free… come in for coffee?” Cullen blurted out, and Hawke chuckled again.

“Really coffee?” he teased.

“Well um. I well.” 

“Coffee first.” Hawke pressed a lazy, lingering kiss on Cullen’s mouth. “And then we’ll work the rest out afterwards.”

transmission.

**To** : All  
 **From** : josephine@inquisition.com  
 **Subject** : TIMESHEETS!IMPORTANT

Please submit your timesheets daily through your Streamtime account. An inability to understand this email, or, ‘Streamtime sucks!’ is not a valid reason not to use Streamtime to log your hours. Please also do not make up job numbers or leave things blank or log things to the wrong job number to ‘save time’, or claim ignorance, or claim that ‘Bowser did it’. Bowser is a very intelligent dog but I have yet to see it operate a computer. 

Submit your timesheets. Now.

In particular:  
Thom, you don’t need to submit a timesheet, thank you. You’re security, not creative. But thanks anyway.

Bull, Cassandra, Leliana, and everyone else not named in this email, thanks. Your timesheets are great.

Cole, yours need to make more sense. They are, unfortunately, a word salad at present.

Cullen, I’m looking for timesheets, not some sort of blow by blow military logbook. 

Dorian, please stop magically making up job numbers. 

Eve, stop making the interns do your timesheets.

Sera, certain items in your timesheets are not billable. Particularly pranks. 

Solas, your timesheets need to be less monosyllabic, please. We’re running a business here, not black ops. 

Varric, if you spent as much time filling in your timesheets as you did coming up with excuses as to why you weren’t doing them… you would probably have the best timesheets. Just saying.

Vivienne, you have to do timesheets like everyone else.

Regards  
Josephine Montilyet  
Accounts Director  
Inquisition Creative

V.

“Yes, I met him for dinner,” Cullen said patiently, during the morning WIP in the War Room. “Yes, he’s indicated that we’re the frontrunner for the job. No, he doesn’t want to see a working concept. We’re still going to have to pitch.”

Leliana sighed. Eve frowned at Cullen across the table. “Work harder. But hey,” she brightened up. “Maybe you could log this into the timesheet.” She winked at Josephine from across the table. “Ten PM to One AM. HWK7020: Engaging in Client Relations.”

“No, Eve.” Josephine said, without looking up from her tablet, even as Cullen choked and started coughing. “Let’s not go there.” 

“ _Anyway_ ,” Varric said firmly, “I’ve got some new ideas I cooked up last night which could work.”

Eve glowered at him. “Seriously? When we’ve already finalised preliminary creative?”

“You can’t _finalise_ something that’s _preliminary_. That’s contradictory. Also, can I say, your filing system gives me a headache,” Varric said. “I looked into the WIP folder yesterday to save in a script and everything seems to be saved as ‘FINAL’, ‘FINALFINAL’, and my favourite, ‘FINALFUCKINGFINAL_ver3’.” 

Eve pulled a face. “I’ll talk to Sera.”

“Moving along,” Josephine glanced down the page. “The Wardens are very happy with all the print collateral concepts. Very happy.”

“All right!” Eve cheered up.

“However, they want the logo bigger by maybe twenty per cent on everything. I told them I’ll get it back to them by tomorrow.” 

“ _What_.” Eve glared. “The same client who, when we asked for an eps of their fucking logo, sent us a jpeg embedded in a Word-fucking-document?” 

“Can we amend the documents or not?” Josephine raised her eyebrows. 

“Fine. But the juniors are going to cry.”

“We have a craft beer client in the works, that’ll pep them up.” Leliana said mildly.

“You told them that the last five times.” Eve pointed out.

“It worked all five times, didn’t it?” 

“I could talk to the Wardens,” Cullen began, only for his phone to go off. “Sorry. Let me take this.” He picked up, circling to head out of the War Room.

“Morning.” It was Hawke, smoky and amused, and Cullen nearly dropped his phone as he scrambled to get out. 

“Hi. Uh. Morning.” 

“Made it to work on time?”

“Yeah. Um. Thanks for the lift.” 

“Not a problem. Listen, I’m going to be near your office in the afternoon. Want to have lunch? There’s a new noodle joint down the block.”

Cullen took in a deep breath, suddenly aware that Leliana was staring at him through the glass with laser focus. She shook her head. “Well uh. I’m actually kinda… booked today. I mean. We’re working on the pitch. Since it’s competitive.” 

Behind the glass, Josephine passed her hand over her eyes. Hawke, however, laughed. “First the carrot and now the stick, hm?” 

“We’ll be ready to pitch…” Behind the glass, Eve held up two fingers. “Tomorrow.” 

“I might change my mind about working concepts.”

“If so, I could get Josephine to email you something today. Sir.” 

“How about dinner after the pitch?”

“Agency policy is to let the client sit on it until everyone else’s finished pitching.” 

“All right, Commander, I give in,” Hawke sounded amused again. “See you tomorrow.” 

Back in the WIP room, Leliana said primly, “Maybe Cullen shouldn’t go to the pitch.”

“Are you kidding?” Varric raised an eyebrow. “Hawke sent me ten texts this morning about Curly.” 

“Rules of engagement. If you give someone what they want too early without stringing them out, the ROI doesn’t tend to be as effective.” 

“Let’s not overthink this, people,” Josephine suggested, even as Cullen sat back down at the table. “Now where are we standing on Redcliffe?”

“Sera will get something to you by noon.” Eve said brightly. “If the M&Ms jar is returned.”

“Fine, fine.” Josephine tabbed something on her iPad. “I’ll send an intern. Vivienne won’t be pleased.”

“She’s not the one overseeing a possible sugar mutiny.” 

“It’ll be done, all right? Next on the agenda… how’s the Hinterlands branding coming along?” 

“I’ve got a new tagline,” Varric offered. “Thought about it last night at three in the morning. ‘Hinterlands: You’re Never Gonna Fucking Get Out Of Here’.” 

“Please no,” Cullen muttered. 

Eve frowned at Varric. “You’re fired.” 

“I was kidding! I do have an idea. Let me draw it up on the board.”

“Varric, you have to realize someday that no brand’s problem will ever be solved by concentric infographics.” Leliana said primly.

“But I can dream, can’t I?” Varric hauled himself to his feet and grabbed a marker.

“Does it have to be the green marker? I’m not very comfortable with the green marker,” Eve said doubtfully. 

“Fine.” Varric switched to red. “Everyone happy? Okay. Now look over here.”

**Author's Note:**

> I work in advertising, aha. Many of these stories are based on true stories. Also, the way Sera writes is also quite common for the creative team. So much of my work on presentations has to do with proofreading… 
> 
> The processed food ban at my workplace lasted a couple of weeks before the art director started to have serious sugar cravings and smuggled snickers bars into the office. Art directors operate on sugar and booze.
> 
> I’ve actually met a marketing manager who used to be a US Marine. He has the craziest stories. We have no idea how he ended up in marketing.
> 
> If you like reading about these kinds of shenanigans, check out:  
> clientsfromhell.tumblr.com - for an insight on wrangling clients  
> https://twitter.com/adweak - This is pretty much true for ad agencies  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DGyJurGpkvI Really a 1one ad, but it’s a hilarious look at marketing brainstorms. ;)  
> http://www.adweek.com/adfreak/bank-americas-marketing-morons-torment-billy-idol-hilarious-ads-christopher-guest-166781 - Green marker comment is from a set of Bank of America ‘marketing brainstorm’ ads.
> 
> Hipster burger place - Actually exists in Melbourne, is called Grand Trailer Park Taverna, pretty good.


End file.
